Unlike many of the stories you’re likely to find here, this
particular tale is written from the kid’s point of view. It is about how his first good dove hunt
played out on September 1, 2007.

This story starts on the opening day of dove season in North Carolina. We had been out on the
previous Saturday and scouted a new field in the area managed by the North
Carolina Dept. of Wildlife. It is a section that covers a total of 28 acres,
but mostly in small tracts spread over a good part of two mountains. Very few
dove come here and stay for any length of time, but we found one field that
boasted a substantial population of dove sitting on the High-Lines.

Eventually, I talked my dad into taking me out on opening day to join the fun. Regardless
of the fact that it was opening day, I expected there to be very few people in
the field, as the area had only been published on the Dept. of Wildlife website
for about 2 weeks. We left at 9:00 AM and didn’t arrive at the field until about 11:00 AM.

Things weren’t looking good when we pulled in. We saw about three on the lines as we
drove past the field to the parking areas. Somehow, they disappeared by the
time we got the gear unloaded. We jumped about 20 out of the wheat on our way
in, which raised our hopes for the day. Shooting hours didn’t open until Noon,
so I set out the Mojo Dove and accompanying decoys and sat down to eat lunch
and have a Gatorade before Noon.

I must say that things were quite uneventful at first. I didn’t see a bird until about
12:30, and all of the sudden, here they came! A few at first, the 5, then 10
and on up from there, all about 5 minutes apart. They seemed immune to the
usual attraction of Mojo, so I picked out what seemed to be a flyway and ducked
down in some weeds to await the next group. Regardless of the thousands of
rounds shot at the Clays range over the summer, the doves seemed invincible to
shotgun pellets. I know I dusted one with at least one of the three shots I fired
at 35 yards, but apparently I was a bit rusty.

By 1:00 PM I had fired close to a box of shells and it seemed that was about the end of
the days shooting. To spare you the boredom, I saw two doves between 1:00 and
3:30, so things weren’t looking up. At about 3:30, I heard shooting in the
other fields. A lot of shooting. The kind of shooting that told you that the
field you were in wasn’t as good as the others. I went back to the truck to get
a few boxes of shells anyway and as I walked I heard gunshots explode behind me.

Following my instinct, I ducked down to wait for a bird. I was over the crest of a hill
and I never did see what they were shooting at. I had my head stuck in the bed
of the truck trying to fish a few boxes out of the case, when, out of the
corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of grey streaking down the road. I stood up
and pulled off an amazing 45 yard shot, dropping the bird cleanly on the road.

By this time it was 4:00 PM and I could tell that things were heating up. I had my dove
and as I walked into my place by Mojo I saw my dad pull three out of his back
pocket. Amazing. Come on, the guy won’t even double on a bird and he got three
with three quick shots from his 870. The action slowed down a bit until 4:30,
and then things really got going.

When the doves started flying in, it was as if they had been let out of cages. Like
releasing prisoners from a jail. They came in droves. 20-30 birds in groups
that came by every 2-3 minutes. I just started shooting and lost track of what
happened after that. I’m not a very good shot, and my usual average is 1:8. (Not so bad, and probably better than
average for pass shooting at doves. -Ed.) There was a lot of shooting going
on and by the noise level, I might as well have been in Vietnam.

I’d never seen anything like it. My dad hadn’t either, and he’s been hunting for 35 years
in North Carolina, South Carolina and Texas. I’d shoot one and on my way back
from picking it up, a group would fly over, apparently unaware of the danger
that lurked below. I had my limit by 6:30, but my dad had apparently been
having too much fun watching me to shoot.

It would be an understatement to say we ran the field from beginning to end. Dad finally
got his limit about 7:00 PM and by that time they’d apparently had about enough
of being shot at. I’d bet money that he took the last one to come through the
field. We packed up and went home, I was thirsty, hungry and dead tired, but
there wasn’t a happier kid on the face of the Earth.

That, my friends, was the story of the boy’s dove hunt. That was me (the boy) typing
the story. Hope ya’ll enjoyed it and best of luck to you this season!